


Never Say Never

by jillyfae



Series: Sweetest of All Sounds [5]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, First Kiss, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Kirkwall, Romance, The Hanged Man - Freeform, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 12:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/pseuds/jillyfae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How to survive boredom and poverty in Lowtown? Hang out with drunken maniacs and develop a strong sense of humor. Talk about imaginary babies? Try not to think naughty thoughts about unavailable Chantry-types? Or something like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hawke

**Author's Note:**

> ah, the kink-meme inspired this completely random explosion of whatever-this-is. Three separate prompts: Isabela + Girl's Night Out = comparing imaginary babies, Sebastian meeting Hawke's companions, and Hanged Man shenanigans w/First Kiss stories all sort of converged on my muse.

“I’ve never had sex in Kirkwall,” Adelaide Hawke sighed, staring sadly down into the dark dank recesses of her tankard. _Corff’s ale is absolute shite, why do I keep drinking it?_

A chorus of mugs up, a sequence of swallows, pottery smacking back down on the table. Even Carver’s.

_Carver? My little brother is getting laid?_

Adelaide suppressed a shudder. That was not something she wanted to think about. At least she wasn't the only one going without, though, as neither Aveline or Fenris had taken a drink either.

_Wait, Fenris?_

Stupid elf just walked into a room and scowled and said “go away” and every female there was sighing after him; why wasn’t he snogging someone at every opportunity? Wasn’t like her, all awkward with a funny nose and having to hide the whole apostate thing.

_Though I suppose he doesn't want to draw attention to the whole escaped slave thing, and those tattoos are even harder to hide than magic._ But he had that great big _creepy and desolate_ mansion all to himself, and she didn't have the littlest bit of privacy, not that that seemed to be stopping Carver, _I do not want to know where he’s fucking people_ , and she had obviously had much too much ale today.

“Aveline!” Adelaide’s wandering eyes settled on her friend, her rock, reliable and sturdy and sensible, the woman who was mourning her husband and not all crazy and pathetic and lonely and who had last had sex with a half-drowned pirate in a cave way too many moons ago. “I love you, Aveline.”

“Well, thank you, Hawke, I love you too.” Aveline’s eyes were squinted, her head tilting slightly as she leaned back, just a bit, _do I stink or something?_ , “but in light of your last statement, I don’t feel _that way_ about women in general or you in particular. Just to be sure.”

“What?” Adelaide blinked blearily before rearing back in her chair, tankard skittering sideways when she bumped it with her elbow. “Oh, Maker, no, I didn’t mean, that’d be, I mean, that’s worse than thinking about Carver getting some,” she ignored the slight “hey” he grumbled in the background, “it’s like snogging my sister and that’s just,” she didn’t think she could make a frown big enough for that thought.

Only now she was thinking of Bethany. “Sister." She sighed. "I miss my sister. You would’ve liked her, if you’d had the chance.” Aveline just nodded slightly, awkwardly, eyes wide as if she wasn’t sure what she was still doing at the table, but they were playing Nevers, weren’t they, right? Talking? _I'm supposed to be talking, aren't I? Is it even my turn?_

“Well, but if you’d had the chance, that’d mean no Blight, and that’d mean if you knew her your husband would know her, cause he wouldn’t be dead either, and that’d be nice for you, you could’ve taken a drink just now cause I’m sure Wesley was a good man even if was a Templar and you would’ve been having sex, but I don’t really want to know about you and Wesley having sex, do I?”

"No." Aveline's scowl seemed to be aimed particularly at Isabela, who had opened her mouth and whose eyes were twinkling, as if she'd been planning on saying something even more outrageous than usual.

Adelaide snickered, then frowned. _Where was I? Oh, right. Bethany. Poor Bethany._

“Bethany never did like always running, always hiding, and if your nice Templar husband had dragged her off then maybe she wouldn’t have tried to stop an Ogre, and she’d still be alive, and that’d be nice, even if I never got to see her again, knowing she was alive. Maybe happy, even.”

Soft silence descended as Adelaide sighed at the thought. Bethany. Alive. Happy. Studying a book, curled up by a fire... she swung her head back up, glaring at Anders, who blinked at her in surprise as she started back up again. “I mean, they can’t be all bad, all the time, can they? Some mages are happy. My father seemed to think kindly of the people he'd known in the Circle, mostly, when he mentioned it, just said he wanted to... to get married.”

Shoulders slumping as she clumsily dragged her tankard back to its spot between her hands where she could stare glumly down into it again, Adelaide scowled. _Empty now, when did that happen?_ “I’ll never get married. Probably never even have sex again. I miss sex.”

“Aww, Hawke,” Isabela’s rich voice had an odd quaver in it. _Is she laughing? Not nice, laughing at me just ‘cause I can’t have sex._ "What does marriage have to do with sex? Even if you have a sudden hankering for little Hawke-lets, you shouldn't let a little ceremony get in the way. I'm sure Blondie would oblige, wouldn't he?"

Anders spit ale across the table, while Adelaide slowly turned her whole body to look at him. "Well. He is very pretty. Little Anders children would probably have very nice smiles."

"And such lovely eyes," Isabela agreed. "All warm and brown. You two would make adorable babies. Though." She reached one finger out and tapped lightly at the wide arch of Hawke's rather patrician nose, before aiming a glance at Anders' face as well. "Probably be overly blessed in the nose department. You two both make it work, however. Sure your kids would as well."

"You'd make pretty babies too, Isabela." Merrill interrupted. "Brown and bouncing. With wee little toes and lots of giggles?"

"Oh! Merrill!" Adelaide suddenly sat up straight. "You'd be such a pretty mother."

"Hmm," Isabela hummed in thought, turning to eye Merrill up and down. "She's right Kitten, you'd be simply precious. We'd have to find you a nice elvish lad, though, so you'd have extra adorable little babies, with the big eyes and ears..."

All three women turned to look at Fenris. Who was scowling magnificently, bangs and eyebrows shadowing his green eyes until their glare was sharp enough to cut. He didn't bother saying a single word.

"Or not," Adelaide admitted slowly, her head listing slightly to the side. "Varric?"

"I don't think the world could handle Varric babies." Isabela grinned. "Too manly, our dwarf. No woman could contain it long enough to bring one to term."

Varric snorted, eyes glinting with amusement. "Careful ladies, Bianca doesn't appreciate it when people attempt to distract me away from her. And babies would definitely require too much attention."

"Carver, then," Isabela purred.

"You are not setting my brother up for baby-making in front of me," Adelaide interrupted. "No. Just no."

"Oh, but you'll let her set you up with babies in front of me?" Carver snorted, his hands gripped very tightly around his mug as he didn't remotely look at either Merrill or Isabela. "Very kind of you, sister."

"It's like watching a landslide," Aveline whispered quietly. "Horrifying and wrong, but I can't seem to turn away."

Isabela just winked, before turning her smirk back to Anders again. "Which brings us back to our compassionate, handsome, and dashing Darktown healer. Just picture it, cute little babies, with big eyes and tiny fingers and pretty smiles and lots of magic. Justice would like helping that along, now wouldn't he?"

"THERE WILL BE NO PROCREATION WITH A BLOOD MAGE."

"No reason to be rude, Justice," Adelaide sniffed, as Anders shook his head to settle the blue aura in his eyes back down where it belonged and everyone else sat slightly stunned. "Just because you're a prig doesn't mean Merrill wouldn't make a lovely mother."

"Or that Anders wouldn't make a lovely father." Isabela recovered before anyone else. "Just maybe for Hawke rather than Merrill?"

"I'm not having babies with anyone!" Anders shouted. Loudly enough the next table over turned to look.

"I'll have your babies if you ever change your mind, Anders!" Norah called back from the bar with a laugh.

"Maker's Breath," Anders groaned, dropping his head in his hands. "Bloody..." His voice trailed off. "Alright then." He lifted his head and glared indiscriminately at just about everyone, though Aveline lifted her hands with a shrug to distance herself from the entire conversation. "Grey Warden. Taint. No babies. Harass someone else."

"But you're the only one left," Isabela wheedled. "You wouldn't leave Hawke _desperate_ and _alone_ , just wanting for a man's attention to fulfill her _deepest_ wish, how would you?"

Anders sputtered, his face looking slightly flushed, while Carver made a strangled groaning sort of sound and took a very large gulp of his own ale. Varric burst out laughing, however, before Adelaide managed to gather her wits and slam a hand down on the table, making her empty tankard rattle. "Isabela! They're cute to imagine, and all, but I have never wanted little Hawke-lets!" _Oh, look, getting embarrassed enough makes me sober. Ish._

"But then why bring up marriage?" Isabela leaned forward, whispering loudly. "If all you need is a good lay, I doubt I'd turn down a repeat performance."

"I don't. You know I usually don't." It was Adelaide's turn to sputter, caught in Isabela's dark hot gaze. "That's not the, I don't _do_..."

Isabela sighed dramatically. "Such a shame dearest, holding out for a _relationship_. I don't think we'd have any problems hooking a particularly fine fish for you, if you were willing to set out a line."

“Don’t wanna have sex with a fish!” Adelaide finally managed a mostly complete sentence, and Merrill’s giggle of agreement caused Adelaide to shoot a lopsided grin in her direction. “I know, right? Isabela’s weird, sometimes, huh Merrill?”

“Even I don’t recommend sex with fish, Hawke,” Isabela chuckled.

“Of course not,” Merrill agreed brightly. “They’re cold and slimy. Sex is better when you’re warm.” She paused as most of the table switched their stares from Adelaide to her. “What? Don’t you think so? Did I say something wrong again?”

“Apparently none of them noticed you took a drink after Hawke’s last Never,” Fenris’ rough voice was light with amusement as he took a swallow of his wine, throwing Corff’s ‘vintage’ as far back in his throat as possible to avoid tasting it much. “Not very observant for a group of fighters.”

"Who wants to be observant here?" Anders muttered. "Getting propositioned for baby-making to counting the stains in the ceiling, what fun."

"And that's enough grousing from all of you," Varric shook his head sadly as Norah arrived with another round of mugs. "This is a game people! Pretend you're happy, so you don't ruin the atmosphere."

Norah ended up right next to Anders, who helped pass the ale around the table with a wink, the pretty barmaid's rolled eyes at their generally dreariness apparently having woken up his fickle sense of humor. _That or the reminder the pretty barmaid would have his babies cheered him up?_

Adelaide picked up her newest mug and downed half of it at once, slamming it back on the table with a thud. And a belch. And some suds spilling over onto her fingers. The rush of nerves from Isabela's mortifying yet strangely entertaining line of questioning seemed to have settled, and the room was gently spinning again.

“I think you’ve had enough there, Hawke.” _Varric's trying to take my mug away!_ She scowled at the dwarf, fingers tightening around the rough cheap pottery.

“All right then!” Varric spread his hands wide, the slightest crease of a frown between his brows, for all he was smiling kindly at her. “Keep your mug. But we’re not putting any more in it. Got it?”

“But then how can I play?” Adelaide suddenly felt like she was going to burst into tears.

“Oh, Maker,” Carver muttered, “and everyone tells _me_ to be careful with the ale, and look, she can’t hold her liquor worth a damn."

"Well, she has been here since just after luncheon," Varric muttered. "That is a bit much, even for her."

"Next thing you know she’ll be singing the Chant at us, telling us to thank Andraste for bringing us all together.” Carver scowled, ignoring Varric and his logic and still muttering under his breath. “I can get that at home, thanks very kindly.”

“Singing,” Adelaide sighed, resting her head on her hand, elbow propped precariously against the edge of the table. “There’s a Brother who leads the Chant for _lauds_ most mornings with the nicest voice. All sweet and rough in all the right places and full of r’s.”

“Are’s?” Merrill peered curiously at her. “You mean, he says ‘are’ more often? I thought you all had to sing the same words to that story song you like so much?”

“Not a story, Merrill, it’s,” Adelaide sighed; this conversation never went anywhere. And she suddenly felt remarkably sober. She shot a suspicious glance over at Anders, who opened his eyes wide as if he had no idea why she was glaring. _Even he isn’t good enough to have cast a healing spell on me without my noticing. Even drunk. Is he?_

_Or, wait, was he the one who passed me my mug? Could’ve put anything in it, couldn’t he? Well, shit, don't know whether to thank him or hit him. Wait and see which one sounds like more fun tomorrow._

“Yes, the same words, dear. I meant, rrrr” Adelaide trilled the letter in the back of her throat, almost forgetting what she was doing as she listened to her own voice thrum through her skull and ears. _Ok, still a little happy._ “He does it better than that though. Accent. Starkhaven, he said.”

“Oh, that is a nice one,” Isabela agreed, her voice still light with amusement. “Picked up a lass from Starkhaven for a few runs. Steady gal, liked to sing her shifts away. Always fun for a listen.”

"You should invite him to Wicked Grace next week, Hawke," Merrill suggested brightly. "Then we can all listen to his pretty r's."

Varric was suddenly afflicted with a coughing fit, probably caused by trying to swallow something coarse and vulgar regarding the idea of a Chantry Brother at his table, as he generally tried not to curse _at_ Merrill.

Which, really just made it seem like a spectacular idea. _Varric speechless? Irresistible._ Adelaide grinned across the table. "I'll see what I can do, Merrill. Now whose turn is it, anyways?"

All eyes turned towards Isabela, who shook her head with a laugh. "I have the hardest time thinking up things I've never done. Let's just all take a drink and pass the turn, hmm?"


	2. Aveline

"AVELINE!" Hawke almost tripped getting out of her chair to greet the late arrival to their Girl's Night Out. 

Not that Aveline was sure why she'd agreed to this, but agreeing just seemed to _happen_ whenever Hawke suggested things, and she hadn't quite figured out how or why, but here she was. Visiting a tavern (thankfully a cleaner one than The Hanged Man) with the slattern and two apostates. Not that she generally thought of Adelaide as an apostate, she was usually just Hawke, but she got all... _touchy feely_ when she drank. Which obviously was happening tonight, _again_ , as she was now _hugging_.

Aveline stifled a sigh and didn't actually roll her eyes and patted Hawke gently on her shoulders until it was over. 

"Look at you!" Hawke exclaimed as she leaned back, a happy smile lighting up her face. "We got you out of your armor for the occasion! That's just splendid."

"She's still wearing leathers. Just like you. Dull and brown." Isabela sniffed from her perch next to Merrill, who simply smiled and ducked her head at Aveline.

"But no breastplate!" And as if to celebrate, Hawke hugged Aveline _yet again_ before dragging her back to their table. "And no protection at all is just silly, in Kirkwall, for anyone."

"Except apparently pirate sluts who avoid even pants." Aveline muttered softly under her breath as she sat down. And then couldn't resist a sigh. The chair was _padded_. She couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten a proper sit on something better than a wooden stool or a rickety ladder-back.

_Except for Varric's chairs, which are all regrettably short._

"Oh, I did that too, isn't it soft?" Merrill bounced gently in her own chair. "I never really understood why the sh -- people we saw moving were always carting so much furniture, but I suppose if they keep making it nicer and nicer, it would be a shame to leave it behind?"

"Yes, shem are very fond of their furniture. Had to cart quite a lot of it in the hold, when moving paying customers." Isabela chuckled. "I think even Hawke's Uncle Gamlen has better chairs than Fenris in his mansion."

"Well, Fenris." Hawke laughed. "The only part of his mansion I think he cleaned up was the wine cellar."

"He's going to get noticed by a tax collector one of these days, if he doesn't straighten the place up properly," Aveline scowled.

"We should do it for him." Merrill suggested, wide eyes smiling. "Just the outside. Make it pretty. Plant some flowers. Aveline would have to clean the windows though. She's the only one who's tall enough."

"I'm sure we could find a ladder, Kitten," Isabela chucked Merrill gently under the chin. "And that's very sweet of you."

"Well, I would like to help. I tried to tell him about our people, but he didn't want to listen." Merrill's entire body sagged a little with disappointment.

"You're a sweet girl, Merrill, but you are a blood mage." Aveline felt compelled to point out. "You have to be expect that sort of reaction from people who know."

"Doesn't mean he has to be such a bastard about it," Isabela gave Merrill a hug around her shoulders. "I know Anders and Fenris are unpleasant, sweet thing, but I love you. Promise."

"Me too, dear," Hawke reached across the table to place a hand over Merrill's delicate fingers. Even Aveline found herself smiling sympathetically at the elf. _Blood mage. Not a helpless little girl. Could boil my blood right out of my body if she felt so inclined. And yet..._

Merrill's smile lit up her face, her large eyes shining. "Thank you." _She's adorable._

"And who knows." The pirate's smile was sleek and dangerous. "Give him a while to get used to you, and maybe we can bring up the idea of pretty elven babies again. They'd have nice thick hair and _such_ green eyes."

Merrill ducked her head and blushed, just a little, and Adelaide snickered as she leaned back in her chair, hands wrapping back around her glass.

"What is it with you and babies lately, Isabela?" Aveline glared at Isabela.

"It makes the boys squirm, and Merrill bounce, and Hawke laugh,and you scowl. The perfect combination." She winked. "Besides, I may not want any myself, but they are cute. It's fun, man-hands, remember fun?"

Aveline snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. Which gesture may have happened to tuck her hands under her arms where they couldn't be seen, but that was completely coincidental. Absolutely an accident. Not the point at all. "I am perfectly capable of having fun that doesn't require alcohol or illicit behavior or embarrassing my friends with my lack of self control."

"Are you sure that's fun, then? Really?" Isabela's lips pursed in thought. "Because I think you just got rid of all the necessary ingredients. Enjoyment rather needs you to let loose enough to admit you're _feeling_ something. Other than the back of a shield and a leather wrapped hilt, that is."

"I enjoyed myself just fine before I met you, pirate." Aveline sniffed. "I'm sure I will continue to do so long after you have been confined to hospital with a particularly nasty pox."

"Look!" Hawke shouted, interrupted the glaring contest. "Aveline doesn't have a drink! I'll fix that up for you, Aveline." She patted the guardwoman on the shoulder and stood up.

 _Always with the touching._ "Why are we letting her drink again?" Aveline muttered under her breath. 

"Fun. Remember fun? I just attempted to explain this to you. The poor girl never has any fun," Isabela whispered loudly. And then Hawke was back with another glass and Aveline couldn't manage more than a glare. "So, Hawke. Tell me about this Chantry man of yours."

"Is that really a good idea?" Aveline could feel the scowl, heavy between her eyebrows. _Hawke does not need encouragement on that topic._

"Of course!" Isabela just grinned. Again. 

"What's his name?" Merrill asked.

"Sebastian. Brother Sebastian Vael."

"Vael?" Isabela suddenly sat up straight. "Starkhaven Vael? That means he's related to the Prince. You. Are visiting a noble? At the _Chantry_?"

"I like the Chantry." Hawke rolled her eyes. "Why does everyone give me such a hard time about that?"

"Apostate." Isabela coughed into her glass. 

Aveline snorted in agreement. "There are so many layers of senseless in that relationship I don't even know where to start. Refugee to noble, apostate to Brother."

"You do lack sense, Hawke." Isabela agreed. Aveline tried not to snort again at the unlikely occurrence of them agreeing with each other twice in a row. "But now we come to the important question. What does he look like? Would he make prettier babies than Anders or Fenris?"

"Uh." Hawke's eyes widened, but she didn't actually manage to say anything.

"Ooh," Merril leaned forward. "I don't think I've ever seen her make that sort of expression before."

"Me neither, Kitten," Isabela grinned. "Which either means he's incredibly ugly and she can't think of a polite way to say so, or he's ridiculously handsome and she is too dreadfully embarrassed to admit she has naughty thoughts about a Chantry Brother."

"It's the second one," Aveline admitted dryly before Hawke managed more than a slight opening of her mouth.

"You know him?" Isabela clapped her hands and turned her grin toward the red-head. "Tell me more."

"He had some decent arms training at some point. He practices at the barracks, most days, rather than making the trip to the Gallows." Aveline shrugged.

"Oooh. Starkhaven accent, handsome, and good in a fight. Tell me, does he have a very big sword?"

Hawke coughed before she managed to drag her voice out of wherever it had been hiding. "He's an archer."

"Maecon spars with him." Aveline added. "Says he's also good with a knife, if you get in too close."

Hawke made a strangled sort of gasp, apparently having imagined something to go along with ' _too close_ '. Isabela snickered. Merrill tilted her head with a smile, and Aveline could feel her own lips trying to twitch. _Not funny. Poor girl, attracted to a man as unavailable as it is possible to be._

Her head fell to the table with a thump, and Hawke's voice drifted out, slightly muffled by arms and wood. "I am such an idiot. But my hands only do so much good by themselves. And he has very nice hands. And I'm shutting up now."

Isabela's rich laughter broke out, loud enough that it filled the tavern and earned them a few curious glances. "Oh, Hawke, dearest, tell me more about his hands."

"Or his face." Merrill interrupted. "I could have run into him the other day and never have known. Well, unless you were there too, of course, you would've introduced us. You haven't said a thing about what he looks like. Is he tall? I do so like it when they're tall."

Hawke nodded silently against the table.

"Longbow?" Isabela aimed her question at Aveline, who also nodded. "Then I bet he's got a nice build. Good shoulders?"

Hawke made another almost whimpering sound.

"I think that was a yes?" Merrill giggled.

"I think so too, Kitten. This is fun. So. Our Hawke likes hands and shoulders and accents. And eyes?"

Hawke practically shivered.

"I'm not sure what that one meant." Merrill said.

"I'm assuming she likes his eyes very much. Grey? Brown? Blue?"

"Mmm," the grunted assent stopped Isabela's guessing.

"Very blue," Aveline agreed.

"Ah, pretty." Isabela leaned her head on her hand, peering down at the back of Hawke's head, the sleek bun of black hair absorbing the candlelight. "Does he have blond hair? That's common in those mountain types."

The head on the table shook from side to side this time.

"Ruddy." Aveline interrupted. "Brown and red hair. Sw--"

"Shh," Isabela waved a hand at Aveline. "It's more fun watching Hawke."

"But she's very hard to see." Merrill's head was bent very far to the side as she tried to peer between Hawke's arms. "Are you alright in there, Hawke?"

"I'm sure she's splendid." Isabela poked gently at Hawke's shoulder.

"I'm sure you're trying to drive us all crazy," Aveline shook her head sadly. _And at least half succeeding, I bet._

"I can't decide whether to laugh, cry, or blush outrageously," Hawke answered. "But I am getting thirsty." She raised her head, her cheeks slightly flushed and her eyes shimmering and her mouth quirked in a hint of a smile as she picked up her glass and finished the rest of her drink. "You are dreadful friends."

"No we're not. We're spectacular friends." Isabela grinned. "Because I'm going to pay for the next round."


	3. Sebastian

"This is a very bad idea."

Sebastian quickened his steps, just a little. That sounded suspiciously like the new Fereldan in the Guard. He'd certainly never seen her here between services before, and she was rather hard to miss, which probably meant she was here on duty, which definitely meant someone needed to be in the foyer to find out what was going on. As he'd only just managed to convince Sister Etheline to go back to bed and stop sneezing all over him, he was the only one up and about and available.

One last step off the stairs and he turned the corner, trying to decide what brought the Guard to the Chantry in the wee small hours of the morning, and...

_Hawke._

Hawke laughing, the edges of her ears very slightly pink, her face hidden behind her hands, black hair rich and soft in the candlelight, a few strands loose and drifting against her neck.

He wondered what her skin would feel like against his hand, if he gathered that silken hair between his fingers to tuck it back up in her bun.

 _Andraste. Forgive me,_ he blinked, pretended he hadn't thought that, finally noticing as his eyes opened that there were three other women filling up the front hallway. The guardwoman whose voice he'd correctly identified, standing against the far wall, arms crossed in front of her chest and a slight frown creased between her eyebrows, a small elvish almost-girl beside her, huge eyes wide as she balanced on one foot, the other tucked behind her calf, and... Well. A very well endowed woman next to Hawke, smirking and eyeing him up and down.

"You _must_ be Brother Sebastian," the unknown woman had a rich voice, warm and satisfied, like a purring cat who'd managed to trick someone into feeding her cream twice in one day.

He felt a sudden urge to check his belt and make sure his pouch hadn't been picked.

"And how may I help you ladies? Guardswoman?" Sebastian aimed his gaze at the tall red-head. _Aveline wasn't it? From the Orlesian?_ "Is there something wrong?"

She shook her head, her voice calm and even. "Not my show, Brother." But the scowl didn't fade as she nodded towards Hawke.

"Oh, no," Hawke's hands dropped and she lightly smacked the woman beside her on the shoulder, a familiar gesture that made him wonder how well they knew each other. _Boots and knives and jewelry and tanned... sailor? Another smuggler?_ "Nothing like that, Sebastian. And please ignore Isabela. Always."

"Pleased to... ignore you, Serah Isabela?" He raised his eyebrows at the sailor, who shook her head and chuckled, a sound as rich and enticing as her voice. Which made Hawke laugh again, short and sweet, and her entire face lit up. _Anyone who can make Hawke laugh like that..._

"Ah, Isabela's fine. Or Captain."

"But you said you wouldn't be a Captain again until you got a new ship," the elf spoke up, her voice light and lilting. "Unless you already found a ship? Why didn't you tell us? You wouldn't keep something like that a secret, would you?" The girl's voice faded, a slight frown making her tattoos shift across her face. _Wait. Tattoos? Accent? Hawke is friends with a dalish? I didn't think they thought humans worth the time it would take to kill us all._

"No, Kitten," Isabela shot a warm smile over her shoulder at the dalish. "When I get a ship, you'll be the very first to know."

"Probably even before whoever you stole it from," Aveline muttered softly in the background.

"Don't you get tired of always aiming the same sorts of insults at me?" Isabela's smile didn't dim in the slightest as she shifted it towards the Guardswoman. "Indulge your imagination a little, serah shield wall."

"The truth is good enough for me, pirate."

"Anyways," Hawke was smilling even as she raised her hands to shush them both. _Apparently, this is normal?_ "Not why we're here, ladies."

"Right." The dalish literally skipped across the floor until she was standing just in front of Sebastian, leaning back on her heels and lifting her face to look up at him with a smile. "Do you like Wicked Grace, Brother Sebastian? Because Hawke said you have pretty r's, and we play every week, and I wanted to hear them, so we're inviting you to join us."

"Merrill!" Hawke's head was in her hands again, and the pirate was laughing again. Even the guardwoman's scowl had faded as her lips twitched and she turned her head to cough into her hand.

 _Hawke said I have pretty are's?_ Sebastian could feel himself blinking again as he tried to follow the rest of the young woman's sentence.

"Oh, did I say that wrong again?" The elf's nose wrinkled as she thought, which really was unbelievably adorable. He suddenly understood the pirate's nickname for her. She was cute enough to scratch behind the ears in the hopes of making her purr. "I seem to have that problem a lot. Varric keeps telling me to think about it before I talk, and I swear I'm sure I've thought it all out, and yet it never quite sounds right when I open my mouth."

"Varric?" Sebastian grasped desperately at the one part of that he recognized. "You play Wicked Grace every week with Varric _Tethras_?"

"Oh, you know Varric!" Merrill clapped her hands. "Well then, this is much easier. And here I thought he didn't know you, he made such a funny sound when I asked if you could come play."

"No, I don't know, I mean, I've never met him, but everyone knows who he is?" Sebastian could feel himself wanting to ramble as badly as the young woman was, and glanced helplessly over towards Hawke.

"Oh," Hawke sighed. The pink had spread from her ears until there was the slightest blush across her cheeks. _She is so beautiful_. "I'm sorry, Sebastian, somehow I never manage to have a proper conversation in the right order anymore. Would you like to join us for Wicked Grace at The Hanged Man? Two nights from now. Or nine, if you're busy this sennight."

"Um." _Wicked Grace._ Generally, in his admittedly un-recent experience, Wicked Grace in a tavern had led to him not going home to his own bed. Which was a line of thought that hadn't really bothered him for some years, but was, perhaps, a mite discomfiting now. _Since I met Hawke_. "Vow of poverty?" He managed to say when he realized he'd been staring at her in silence for a bit longer than was proper. "Gambling would be... inappropriate."

"Oh!" Merrill suddenly piped up again. "That had lots of r's in it! I see what you mean now, Hawke. That is very pretty. And none of us have money anyways," she added as she turned her eyes back towards Sebastian. "Well, Varric does, but he doesn't bet money when he plays with us, we just use chips. Because we're saving. For the Expedition."

"Expedition?" _I'm sure this conversation will make much more sense tomorrow. Or next year. Maybe?_

"The Deep Roads. For Bartrand. Aveline says you're good with a bow and a knife. Did you want to come on the Expedition with us? Hawke likes you, so I'm sure you'd be lovely company."

"Hmm," Isabela hummed. "I'm definitely starting to see the appeal of the good Brother's _company_ myself. I'm sure we could find a use for him, all trapped in the dark together..."

Sebastian could feel his face heating up to match Hawke's as he struggled to figure out something, _anything_ , to say, rather than listening to the pirate, or wondering why Hawke and Aveline were talking about him, and what else Hawke had said...

"Isabela," Hawke hissed, the smack she delivered to Isabela's shoulder much harder than the last one. "Stop it. For once."

"Don't think the tart has a disarming trigger, Hawke." Aveline huffed.

"I certainly don't in my shoulder," Isabela laughed, before leaning in to give Hawke a kiss on the cheek. "But you know all about my triggers, and you like me anyways, don't you dearest?" Her voice was a caress as she whispered loudly enough for them all to hear, her mouth still barely a breath away from Hawke's skin.

Aveline snorted in the background again. "Half of Kirkwall knows where your triggers are, I'm sure."

Something ached in Sebastian's throat as he watched Isabela and Hawke, standing so _very_ close together. _Am I jealous?_ Maker. He was jealous. He'd never actually seen Hawke with her friends, living her real life in Lowtown. Just the time she spent with him at the Chantry, or helping Serah Lirene, and somehow, he'd forgotten...

 _I've forgotten who we both really are._ He had to stop that. He had to get rid of this feeling, this _infatuation_ , before he hurt them both.

"I couldn't possibly leave the Chantry for a secular Expedition," Sebastian forced his voice out, slow and steady. "But I see nothing wrong with a friendly game of Wicked Grace." _I have to see her there, put her in her place, watch her life away from here. Away from me. A life with pirates and smugglers and The Rogue of Kirkwall, not a life that could be contained within Chantry walls._ "If you are sure Messere Tethras wouldn't mind the intrusion."

"Really?" Hawke smiled at him, her brown eyes warm and wide with surprise, and he ruthlessly suppressed the urge to grin back at her, to reflect that happiness with his own. "Well then, we'll see you the day after next. Right after _vespers_ should be fine."

"Thank goodness, that's over with." Aveline pushed herself off the wall and turned towards the doors. "Now let's leave the Brother to his business and get out of his way before Isabela does something more impossible than usual."

A bare few moments later, after a chorus of feminine 'farewells', he was alone again, trying desperately not to think about the curve of Hawke's hips as he'd watched her leave.


	4. Varric

Andraste's Ass, the man was _shiny_. True, wandering around Lowtown after dark in nothing but robes with a Maker's sunburst on them was just asking to get mugged, at best. And he had proper usable weapons, rather than stupid noble for-show weapons that bent if you hit someone with them. He even walked like he knew how to use them, and had calluses in the right places for that longbow he carried. _And he's been in the Chantry for a decade, it's not like he has a choice of armor in his closet. Probably doesn't even have a closet._ Varric ignored the logical part of his brain. Brother Sebastian was white and shiny and had The Prophet's face on his belt buckle and Varric had _no clue_ why Hawke was subjecting them all to his company.

Well. That wasn't true.

The man was polite and handsome and not as dumb as he first appeared, as witnessed by the fact that he'd brought Varric a very nice bottle of brandy as a thank you for letting him join their game. He did have a pretty nice voice, too, if you were into that sort of thing. Which Hawke probably was, what with all the Chanting and singing and shit. And that stupid 'r' crack which had caused the whole invitation in the first place.

_And who can turn down Daisy when her eyes get all shimmery like that? Not me. Not Hawke. Couple of saps._

The Chantry fellow had also refrained from looking surprised when introduced to a feathery man who very carefully didn't mention his job and a broody spiky elf with tattoos and white hair, so he'd either done his research or was better at hiding his emotions than one would expect from a cloistered Brother.

_Still doesn't mean I have to like him._

Hawke had smiled so much she'd practically sparkled when the twit showed up, however, so he probably should at least _pretend_ to be nice.

And oddly the choir boy and Fenris seemed to be getting along. The elf seldom talked to anyone. Beyond "let's go find some slavers to kill" or some-such mercenary tendencies.

 _Choir Boy. Huh. That'll work. Guess he's sticking around, if I thought up a nickname for him already._ He waved everyone to the table and dragged out his cards, passing them to their 'guest' to start the first hand. _Still need something for our Lady Hawke, though._


	5. Hawke

Sebastian was shuffling. Adelaide couldn’t seem to stop watching, as he was really quite surprisingly good at it, cards slipping between nimble fingers, making bridges and swoops and patterns on the table.

“Hmm,” Varric huffed, watching with one eyebrow raised. “Don’t think you learned that in the Chantry, Choir Boy.”

“I was not dedicated to the Chantry until I was a bit beyond Carver’s age.” Sebastian shrugged.

“Oh, were you a snarly young pup, too, trying out your little teeth?” Isabela purred, sliding her chair just the slightest bit closer. “Or were you more adventurous than that?”

“Isabela,” Adelaide glared, not completely sure who she was trying to protect from Isabela’s insinuations, but quite thoroughly determined that she wanted to avoid any and all possible comparisons between the former-Prince and her _brother_.

“I was a bit too adventurous, perhaps.” A hint of a wry smile twisted his face, though he never lifted his gaze, pretending the cards needed all his attention.

“No such thing as too adventurous,” Isabela practically cooed in his ear, bountiful breasts a hairsbreadth away from his arm. “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying a good tale from your past, no matter what happened later.”

“Most of my tales would be inappropriate for... mixed... company.” Sebastian's eyes flickered around the table, too fast to follow, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. “They’re probably similar to your more recent adventures, Captain. No one would gain anything from hearing about them.”

_Oh. Oh my. I’d gain something. Please tell me a story, Sebastian?_

“Really?” Merrill asked, the lilt raising her quiet voice above the general hub-bub of the Hanged Man's crowd coming through Varric's open door. “You don’t much look like a pirate.”

“I am a terrible sailor, Merrill,” Sebastian agreed gently.

“But then how would you have adventures like...”

Carver slammed his suddenly empty mug down on the table before Merrill could finish asking her question. “Corff!” He aimed his shout out the door, echoing loudly down the stairwell. “Another round!”

Adelaide wasn’t quite sure why Carver came along to play Wicked Grace, as he never really said much of anything, but she had to admit it was oddly comforting having the familiar glower in the background. Made Varric's suite at the Hanged Man... homey.

“So what’s the forfeit tonight? ” Aveline asked. _All business, our Aveline, even when she’s playing._ Adelaide smiled fondly at the woman next to her before turning her gaze back towards Varric. He always chose the prize. A game just wasn’t a game without _something_ on the table, even for a bunch of paupers who'd agreed not to play for money.

“I vote for clothes,” Isabela leaned back in her chair, breasts curving up as she stretched, effectively drawing every eye to her cleavage. Sebastian swallowed rather uncomfortably, apparently unable to avoid an eyeful of pirate bounty from his position beside her.

“You always vote for clothes,” Aveline huffed, arms crossed in front of her chestplate. “Accept defeat.”

“And what would be the fun in that?” Isabela smirked back across the table.

The guard’s answering snort had a tinge of actual annoyance, but didn’t sound full-out angry, so Adelaide just chuckled.

“Something sweet?” Merrill sighed. “It was very grey and rainy today, and everyone seemed very sad, and I had a very difficult time getting the mud out from between my toes.”

Fenris, of all people, grunted an affirmative, though Adelaide supposed he was probably agreeing about the annoyance of mud between the toes rather than a need for something sweet. _What would Fenris consider sweet, anyways? Danarius’ head on a pike? With nice long ribbons and flowers, so it looked like a Wintersend Pole?_

“Whatever you desire, Daisy,” Varric smiled fondly at the little Dalish. Merrill routinely reminded Adelaide much-too-much of her lost little sister; the obvious and logical observation that the dangerous blood-mage could take care of herself had no effect on Adelaide’s heart. She hadn’t a clue what inspired the protective glint in Varric’s eyes, _he never got to meet our Bethany_ , but she certainly understood it.

Swallowing a sigh along with some sour ale, she realized she was rather in need of something sweet herself.

_Damnit I will not look at Sebastian when I think things like that._

“Like kittens?” Anders spread his hands wide as they all turned to look at him. “What? I like cats.”

“Can’t very well pile them on the table between hands, Blondie.”

Sebastian quirked a very slight smile. “They’d probably knock all the cards off and attempt to pounce on our fingers, even if we could.”

_Aw, that’s adorable. And he’s trying to make nice. That’s so sweet. He’s so sweet. Damnit. The man's a sworn Brother, who only agreed to play because... I don't even know why he agreed to play, but it wasn't so I could flirt with him. Bad Hawke. DO NOT THINK ABOUT SNOGGING HIM._

“Like kisses?” _Maker, I’m an idiot._

“I like those better when they’re not sweet.” Adelaide blinked a moment as she tried to reconcile the very Isabela-sort-of-words floating across the table in Merrill’s light little voice. “But we could just talk about the sweet ones, I guess?”

“Oh, Kitten, someday you must share some of your not-sweet stories.” Isabela shot a mischievous glance towards Carver. “But perhaps not in... mixed... company.” _And that one was for Sebastian._ “We wouldn’t want to frustrate the boys too much.”

“Sweet kisses it is then,” Varric declared before Carver could do more than start a frustrated snarl in the back of his throat. “Your very first ones, I think. Those tend to stay sweet enough for... mixed... company.”


	6. Carver

Of course his sister won the first hand. Which would be fine, she was pretty good at cards, it happened. But of course she didn't _just_ win. He also had to lose. Spectacularly. Before anyone was drunk enough to be distracted into their own stories so he didn’t have to tell his. _The Maker hates me. Me personally. I’m sure of it._

“Peaches.” He grunted. Hawke, _damnit now I’m doing it, I’m a Hawke too, Adelaide, my sister-dear,_ choked slightly on the swig she’d just taken of her ale, eyes wide as she stared at him.

“And?” Isabela leaned forward.

“And nothing.” _When the elf grows at them they all shut up, but no, not me, not when I do it, and my sword’s just as big and heavy as his._

“Because.” Isabela grinned. _Maker, he was in trouble_. “Unless you want us all imagining you and a piece of fruit alone and desperate in your room, you really need to tell us more than that.”

His sister groaned and dropped her head to the table. _Glad to know I’m not the only one who’s miserable._ The damn dwarf, however, did that asinine grinning eye squinting story-time _look_ of his all the way down the table, and was obviously having a grand old time.

“And she was a girl. In Lothering. Brown eyes. Blonde hair.” _Enormous tits_ “Liked wearing green dresses. We kissed.” _She sucked my cock behind Barlin’s shed, but she wasn’t very good at it. Teeth._ Carver shuddered slightly at the memory. She’d also let him ‘finish’ up her ass, and it was only later when he thought about how little help she’d needed that he’d wondered what else she’d shoved up her ass and if he’d just gotten himself a pox. _Luckily not._ "All she ever wanted to talk about was my sister." He aimed his scowl at Adelaide. "Killed the mood.”

“What’s wrong with talking about Hawke?” Merrill blinked slightly. “We all talk about Hawke. I like Hawke. She’s very helpful.”

“Aw, Kitten, it’s never good when a woman is more interested in, well, anyone besides the fellow she’s with.” Isabela smirked. “But especially not another woman. Makes them feel all un-manly.”

“But you said they liked it when two women --”

“Not my sister!” Carver interrupted very loudly, trying to cover up Isabela’s rich chuckle and whispered ' _later_ ' in the background. “Sisters shouldn’t, ever, just...” He shuddered again, and was oddly comforted by Adelaide making an almost identical horrified groan.

“Stealing Junior’s girlfriends?" Varric positively snickered. With delight. _Damn dwarf_. “Didn’t think that was your style, Hawke.”

“It’s not!” Adelaide’s voice was muffled, as she refused to lift her head from where it was hiding on the table, her arms wrapped around and over her ears. “Maker’s Breath! Someone just please deal and make it stop!”

“I’ll be your girlfriend, Hawke,” Isabela leaned forward, fluttering her eyelashes and pushing her breasts against the table. _Why does everyone always like her better? No one ever pushes their breasts up like that for me_. “No stealing necessary.”

“You’d be stealing all her silverware before the day was out,” Aveline leaned forward and pushed Isabela back, one strong finger against her forehead. “Stop teasing the boys and deal already.”

“Gamlen doesn’t have silverware, man-hands,” Isabela pouted, her bottom lip sticking out so far it shadowed the piercing beneath it, and Andraste’s Flaming Sword she was such a _tease_. He was suddenly tempted to slam his head on the table too. But then he’d just be following his sister. _Again_. He scowled and took another drink instead, ignoring the glare Aveline redirected from Isabela over to him. _I can drink if I want to. She's worse than my mother._


	7. Aveline

Aveline sipped slowly at her ale, just enough to moisten her throat, keeping a careful eye on the entire table. She kept a particularly sharp gaze reserved for their Chantry guest. Hawke's rather random assortment of compatriots might be a bunch of uncouth, vaguely criminal ruffians, but they were _her_ ruffians. And Aveline loved Wesley with every breath in her body, but he had tended to... arrogance. His compatriots had frequently been afflicted with lifted noses blocking their view of the real people around them, and for all she couldn't quite _approve_ of three free mages wandering around Kirkwall, she certainly wasn't going to let anyone else have at them.

But Vael seemed too soft to be worth worrying about. Or really worth spending any time with at all, a pretty young man living a life of privilege, but Hawke liked him. _Likes him a bit too much, perhaps, but he has to be better than the abomination and the whore, yes?_

He was also really surprisingly good at gambling for a Chantry Brother, she realized as he managed to sweep up the next pot without even blinking. She blinked, though, when she realized she'd replaced Carver at the bottom of the standings. And thus had to pay the forfeit.

"Well," she cleared her throat. "Olivier Mantel, half-Orlesian, black hair, brown eyes, three and a half cubits, seven stone. He had the same sword Master I did. We were thirteen."

"Maker," Varric sighed, "you all are dreadful at this. Daisy asked for sweet, I asked for first kisses, and I get, what, a lost farmgirl and a description fit for a wanted poster? Where's the romance?"

"Or the lust?" Isabela snickered. "Did he make your heart beat faster, big girl? Your breath catch in your chest? Did those big strong man-hands of yours tremble?"

"Yes," Aveline nodded briefly. "To the first two. Not that last one."

"Not the trembling sort?" Hawke shot her a sideways glance with a rueful twist of her mouth. "I tremble. My nostrils flare and my hands shake, and I never know what to say."

Aveline snorted. "You always have something to say Hawke."

"That doesn't mean it's the right something," Hawke's chuckle snuck 'round the table, low and slow, drawing faint smiles out of just about everyone.

Even Fenris, though he hid it with a shrug, the movement short and brisk, and started to deal.


	8. Fenris

The pirate was insufferable. Flirting and teasing and touching everything and everyone, _never me_ , and worst of all winning. _Probably cheating._ How someone who never took anything seriously had survived past the age of four he’d never understand.

Nevermind that he was embarrassingly jealous of that laugh of hers, rich and friendly and happy. He’d never laughed like that. Didn’t even know how to start. _Maybe I should keep an eye on her. See how she does it..._

Fenris grunted in the back of his throat. _As if I’ll be around long enough for it to matter._ He knew better than to imagine a peaceful future. _Just worry about the current game. That’s enough planning. For now._

At least the abomination wasn’t winning.

He glared down at his cards and folded as quickly as possible.

But it wasn’t quickly enough.

“Your turn, elf,” the little junior Hawke was completely insufferable, never happy, no rich laugh to redeem himself, determined to be as obnoxious as possible all the time.

“No.”

“You agreed to play the game, Broody. Gotta pay the forfeit.” The dwarf was marginally more bearable. _Almost likable. If I liked people._ Varric at least was as good with his crossbow as he thought he was. Probably as good with a scheme as he thought he was, too, but Fenris tried very hard not to get involved in his schemes. Beyond the “I know a merc who might pay you to kill slavers” conversations.

“Aw, Fenris,” Hawke sighed, “must you always be such a grouch? There’s ale! Well, wine in your case, and friends and cards and everyone’s still clothed and no one’s gotten in a fight and I know you don’t hate us as much as you pretend or you wouldn’t still be here.”

The Chantry-man chuckled softly, and Fenris resisted the urge to smile slightly at the archer. Barely knew the man. No reason to assume he was really as sincere as he seemed. People never were.

_Hawke might be._

She really was remarkably endearing, for a woman who liked to throw hexes at people. It disturbed him how easily he thought of her as a person, not a mage, as someone who couldn’t tell a decent red from the hard juice that Corff tried to pass off as wine, as someone who was almost as good at killing slavers as he was. As someone who was, perhaps, a friend.

“I don’t remember,” he muttered softly in defeat.

The moment of stunned silence was just as unpleasant and awkward as he’d thought it would be. He carefully kept his gaze aimed down into his cup. He didn't want to know who thought him deserving of pity. He'd have to kill them. Hawke would be upset if he killed them.

_And why does it matter if I upset someone?_

He wasn't sure he could kill Hawke. Or the Pirate, with her laugh, or the dwarf with his schemes. And certainly not the Guardswoman, who was precisely as brutally forthright as she seemed. He quite liked that about her.

_What has happened to me?_

“But that means you get to choose!” Isabela suddenly piped up. Fenris slanted a gaze carefully at her across the table, but all he could see in her expression was her typical gleeful mischief. “Now, on purpose, all on your own! My first kiss was dreadful, truly. My mother introduced us, and apparently mistakenly under the impression that he was your typical milksop young noble, left us alone together just long enough for him to try and give me his tongue and a grope. It was awkward and too dry and then too wet, and yuck.” She shuddered and shrugged with her entire body, not just her shoulders. “I was relieved to see her, just that once, when she came back and dragged him out of the house by his ear for his presumption.”

Vael of all people chuckled in what appeared to be agreement. “My first kiss was motivated more by a wish to annoy my mother for trying to parade me through the marriage market before I was even of age, than much in the way of actual desire."

"Why would kissing the women annoy your mother?" Varric's rumbling voice worked through his words slower than usual, as if he wasn't sure he actually wanted to be talking to Vael, but couldn't resist his role in the drawing out the story.

"I wasn't kissing the latest eligible young lady, I was kissing her maid. Rather than attending the ball we threw to welcome her Mistress to Starkhaven."

Isabela and Hawke both burst out laughing, and even Aveline's lips twitched in amusement. Merrill tilted her head as if she was still trying to figure out the pronouns, _or that innocence is all an act, and she's planning some way to feed us all to her pet demon_ , and Anders and Carver both rather obviously refrained from reacting at all. Varric, however, shook his head in rueful appreciation and raised his mug in Vael's general direction.

"In retrospect, I'm quite sure I caused the poor maid no end of trouble. She almost lost her place, all because I was selfishly avoiding my duties." Sebastian's voice was softer now, his shrug slight and gentle as his eyes caught Fenris' in a serious gaze. "Sometimes a fresh start is the best thing in life.” Fenris felt his hands tighten around his cup. There was sympathy, yes, which he wasn't sure what to do with, but not an ounce of pity in the blue eyes aimed at him.

_It's good I won't have to kill the archer. Hawke wouldn't like that._

“A fresh deal would be good enough for me,” the abomination muttered from the end of the table.


	9. Anders

THIS IS A WASTE OF TIME.

_Shut up._

YOU CANNOT TRUST THESE PEOPLE.

_These people helped me try to save Karl. Hawke is a good woman. And a free mage, I'd think you'd like her. Now, really, shut up, or I'm going to screw up this hand._

THIS HAWKE BROUGHT A CHANTRY LACKEY TO THE TABLE JUST TO LISTEN TO HIM TALK.

_Well, then, you should stop pestering me so he doesn't notice I've got an extra loud voice in my head._

HMMPH

Anders scowled down at his cards. He apparently hadn't shushed Justice quickly enough, because _Maker_ , he was losing spectacularly.

Also, he was pretty sure either Varric or Isabela was cheating to help Merrill, as the elf usually lost a hand or two simply because she started playing diamondback while everyone else was still on Wicked Grace, but she was doing just fine tonight. _No one ever cheats to make sure I don't lose. Quite the opposite, in fact._ He took a sip of ale and tried to figure out some way to make his hand not hopelessly dreadful.

It didn't work.

And the damn chantry man had almost as many little wooden chips in front of him as _Varric_. That just wasn't right. Anders could usually hold his own.

Sort-of.

Maybe?

Definitely not tonight though.

"Blondie," Varric grumbled as everyone stared at Anders and his rather pathetic stack of chips. "It's up to you to save the evening. Give us a proper forfeit, please?"

"Well." _How to tell this story without making it obvious it takes place in a Circle?_ Anders shot one dark glance at Vael, before turning his gaze towards Hawke. Who was smiling that soft smile she only got when she was drinking, when the alcohol and the distraction of her friends managed to make her stop worrying about her mother and her brother and her dog and the templars and every beggar she ever ran into who she didn't have the coin to help.

"Once upon a time, I knew someone. Little short. Thick heavy black hair. Smooth skin, like old porcelain. Dark brown eyes." Most of the table was eyeing Hawke now, noticing the similarities. The Choir Boy looked a little uncomfortable, even, hands tight around his tankard. _Well, that just makes this even more fun._ "The greatest laugh, too, this chuckle that just snuck up on you when you weren't expecting it. Impossible to resist joining in."

Hawke was both smiling and frowning, a little crease forming between her eyebrows while her lips curved and she tried to glare at him. He was pretty sure she'd figured it out, but it wasn't as if she could ask while the Brother was sitting _right_ there.

Daylen had had a very similar expression when he couldn't decide whether to laugh, stick his tongue out, or try and sneak a hex past the instructors and glue someone's feet to the floor. Though it had looked a bit different above his little snub of an Amell nose, rather than the much larger one that the Hawkes had presumably inherited from their father. Rivka and Leandra must have been very close, to have produced such similar children. _Powerful and kind both. Such an unusual combination._

"And?" Varric prompted.

"Also a dreadful tease, flirting with everyone and never following through."

Isabela snickered, apparently of the opinion that that description still fit their Hawke rather well, judging by the look she'd aimed across the table. Varric grinned as Hawke rolled her eyes. "Can I help it if I'm surrounded by such pretty, irresistible people?"

"But you do resist us! You raise our hopes so high, dearest, just to crush our poor little feelings," Isabela did that melodramatic pout of hers, the one that made her already impressive lips look even softer than usual. 

Hawke just snorted. "You don't have a poor little anything, Isabela, and I certainly haven't made so much as a dent in your feelings. Now shush, and let Anders tell his story."

Isabela sighed, but waved her hand in Anders' general direction. 

"The library was a converted tower," he started, leaning back in his chair. "Square shelves and round walls meant there were gaps. Hidden alcoves. Places to be private, if you were... quiet." Hawke's eyes widened a bit, recognizing Kinloch Hold, but Anders was pretty sure most people would just assume he meant at a school or a small-town Chantry. They frequently built libraries for the locals. _THEY PLACATE THE WEAK, SO NONE WILL QUESTION THE INJUSTICE OF THEIR LAWS._

Anders shrugged, dismissing the thoughts that might have been his. Or might not. 

"And what did you get up to behind those shelves, Anders?" Isabela purred. 

"Eventually, just about everything," he grinned at the pirate. "But you've only earned the story of my first kiss."

"With Hawke, apparently?" Isabela leaned forward and winked at him. "Can we watch a re-enactment?"

"Ah, he was a little less curvy than our Hawke," Anders shrugged. At that half the table aimed for Carver, who scowled into his mug and attempted to ignore them. "Junior's not remotely short, why are you all looking at him?"

"You're enjoying this, aren't you," Fenris muttered. "The center of attention, everyone's eyes on you. Arrogant..." He took a drink, swallowing the rest of his words with his wine.

"I am fulfilling my end of the bargain." Anders had to remind himself not to summon some mana to shove at the elf, just to make the bastard jump when his tattoos reacted. _Witnesses. Bad idea. Maybe next time._

"And doing a much better job of it than the rest of you slobs." Varric chuckled. "Go on, Blondie."

"Well. He'd been busy doing his relentless flirting routine with our friend Neria and she'd finally gotten tired of it and told him to knock it off or she'd knock all his teeth out." _Well, really, she said she'd set fire to his robes every morning after breakfast for the rest of his life, but that's a little magey for our 'guest'_.

"Oh," Merrill gasped. "That would hurt dreadfully. How would he eat?"

"He wouldn't dearest, that's the point." Isabela grinned. "I think I would've quite liked this Neria."

"You would," Anders agreed. "He attempted to defend himself by claiming I was just as bad, and why didn't she knock my teeth out too, and she sniffed and said I at least could follow through on an invitation and grabbed my hand and dragged me behind the shelves."

"And proceeded to snog your brains out?" Hawke seemed relieved the conversation had shifted from her long-lost cousin to a complete stranger, grinning at him as her shoulders relaxed.

"Well, not exactly. We'd neither of us done that sort of thing before, so we just stood there, in the dark, barely enough light leaking back there with us for me to see the curve of her cheek, the edge of her ear." He tilted his head to the side, picturing her again in his thoughts. She'd been even blonder than he was, her skin pale and shimmering in the gloom. 

Neria really had been a lovely girl. He missed them. Missed them both. Missed so many people he'd never get to see again. Dead or locked up or tainted, everyone he'd ever known. "But then we heard footsteps, and she leaned up, just a little, until her lips just touched mine." He lifted his hand, fingers light against his mouth. "And we stood there, neither of us moving, breathing together, her mouth so very soft..." His voice trailed off and he dropped his hand. "Until the footsteps faded away again, and she fell back on her heels, and I'm pretty sure we were both blushing dreadfully as we snuck back out again."

"Ah," Merrill sighed, a soft smile making her eyes shine even more than usual. "That was lovely, Anders. Did you get to kiss her again?"

"Nah," he shook his head with a rueful smile. "Neria really didn't have the slightest bit of interest in me. Or anyone really, as far as I know. She just couldn't bear to be a liar." His smile widened into a grin. "Did wonders for my reputation, though, having gotten her behind the shelves. Got plenty more kisses after that. With all sorts of people." He aimed his grin at Hawke. "Including the dark-haired brat who'd started it all in the first place. He turned out to be very good with his hands, once you shut him up."

Hawke made a disgusted sort of groan in the back of her throat, but then started laughing.

Those Amells really did have wonderful laughs.


	10. Merrill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  hurtsickle = [cornflower](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cornflower): "In folklore, cornflowers were worn by young men in love; if the flower faded too quickly, it was taken as a sign that the man's love was not returned."

Hawke was so pretty when she laughed. Well, really, Hawke was generally a wonderful woman. _She comes by the Alienage even though she hates it. She takes me around Kirkwall with her, and never gets cross with me._ Merrill glanced down at her belt knife. _She even asks me to fight with her, and doesn't try and stop me from using my magic._ Not that Hawke approved. That was clear. Her eyebrows drew together and her lips got tight and her fingers wrapped so hard around her staff they turned white, but she didn't argue. _She never tells me I'm stupid, just that it isn't worth the cost. But she isn't trying to save her entire people. Trying to salvage something from that dreadful day..._

"Daisy," Varric rumbled pleasantly from the head of the table. He had such a nice voice, Varric. And such smiling eyes. She really wanted to pet him, most days; he seemed so much nicer for petting than Hawke's dog, with all that curly chest hair, but somehow she had the feeling that wasn't proper, as no one else ever seemed to be petting him, and...

"Daisy!"

"Yes, Varric?" She looked up from her cards. "Is it my turn? Did I miss something?"

"Yes, Kitten," Isabela leaned over, her body warm against Merrill's side. "You lost. Rather spectacularly. You have to pay the forfeit."

"Oh, but I was just going to..." Merrill looked back at her cards again, and then across the table. _Oh._ "Oh. Right. Ok then. Kisses. Such an odd thing, kissing, don't you think? I wonder who first thought it up? I mean, pushing my mouth against someone else's mouth isn't really the first thing that comes to mind when there's that ache in between your legs, is it?"

She heard muffled coughing.

From several people, in fact, but that seemed to happen to her a lot, and she never could figure out _why_ before she'd opened her mouth and apparently already said the thing that you weren't supposed to say. "But it feels so lovely when you do, so I must admit I'm glad someone figured it out. Aren't you?" She smiled at Isabela, because Isabela really seemed to be an expert on such things.

"Delighted, Kitten," Isabela agreed. "Such things you can do with your lips and tongue, I'm sure."

Carver made one of his groaning growling sorts of noises, which she had to admit did pleasant things to the trembly feeling she got in her belly when she'd been drinking. Isabela's laugh did, too, and it was almost as nice as Tamlen's eyes when he'd smiled at her.

_But not quite._

"Tamlen had the nicest eyes," Merrill sighed. "Blue. Not as blue as the sky, well, maybe on a misty sort of day, grey and blue? Or blue like hurtsickle the day after you've picked it? Not that I meant they were _faded_ like in the story, because I certainly, we both felt the same..."

"Ah." Hawke's Sebastian sighed as she stuttered abruptly to a halt. Even Anders, who generally just aimed his scowling face in her direction, seemed to soften for a moment. Fenris of course didn't change expression in the slightest. Hawke just looked confused.

Which was odd, Hawke and Varric and Isabela almost never gave her that raised eyebrow look she'd come to expect from most people that meant they had no idea what she was talking about or why she was talking about it to them. _Well, Marethari never did either, but she had a way of sighing, as if she was disappointed, that was almost worse. Not even almost. Definitely worse._

"What happened to your Tamlen?" Sebastian asked softly, filling the emptiness that had covered the table as she glared down at her hands, eyes wet and burning, trying not to sniff. _Tamlen liked listening to my questions. Always said he had a feeling if he listened hard enough I'd come up with all the answers, too, and wouldn't that be exciting?_

"We think he died. Badly." Merrill couldn't seem to look up. Didn't really want to think about it, even though she thought about it all the time, even though she couldn't ever stop thinking about it, even though it was the entire reason she had to do everything she had to do, because they couldn't have died in vain, or even worse, if he wasn't really dead, and with the mirror she could find out? "We never found him. Lenya tried, but she didn't last long enough to show us where..." Merrill swallowed. "Well, that wasn't sweet at all, was it? I guess I'm not very good at this. I should probably, just." She pushed herself back from the table, chair scraping barely a hands-breadth across the floor before it got caught on the rug.

"Don't you dare, Kitten," Isabela's warmth was suddenly wrapped all the way around her, arms around her shoulders, her cheek resting on Merrill's hair. "Won't let you wander off all sad and alone. What did he taste like, your Tamlen?"

"Summer," Merrill breathed out softly, only realizing she'd been holding the arms of her chair in a death grip when her fingers loosened and her arms relaxed. "The very first time he kissed me, it was dusk, just into Molioris, and he was supposed to be heading out with a night-Hunting party, and he just kept standing there, and he ducked his head and lifted it again, and I told him he was running late, and he'd get in trouble, and they might even leave without him and how bored would he be, and how upset to be stuck behi--." Merrill stopped, turning her face into Isabela's shoulder.

That was when he'd kissed her. He'd slid a hand under her chin and tilted her face, stopping her mid-word. He'd bent in too close, and he bumped her teeth with his, but then he pulled back, just enough, his lips _right there_ , and she'd closed her eyes and kissed him back and all she could smell was hot grass cooling as the sun set, and the new leather of his gauntlets.

"He said I was never boring, and he tasted like summer, and then he had to go."


	11. Sebastian

_I shouldn't have come._

Hawke and Isabela and Varric and Aveline and even Carver were all focused on the little dalish, her every emotion reflected in her eyes as they murmured soothing words and reached out with comforting hands. Seeing that lost look on Merrill's face felt remarkably like he'd kicked a puppy, and he wished more than anything that he knew her well enough to help comfort her.

"They have hurtsickle in the Chantry gardens," he heard himself saying before he'd really thought about it. He had to swallow as every eye at the table was suddenly aimed at him instead of Merrill. "For the tinctures. But I'm sure I could get a cutting for you, to remember him by, if that is something you would like?" 

"Gardens?" Her entire face opened up, distracted from her memories. "Could I come with? Could I see what else they have? I haven't seen a proper plant since I moved to Kirkwall, there's the _vhenadahl_ , of course, but no room for growing anything else in the alienage, but I do actually have one window, if I could get some pots I could set them up and that would be a lovely idea, Sebastian, thank you!" She wriggled out of Isabela's grasp and leaned across the pirate to give him a kiss on the cheek, before collapsing back into her chair with a smile.

The look on Carver's face promised a very messy death, if they ever happened to be alone in a dark alley, but Sebastian was mostly sure the young man wouldn't actually follow through on his murderous impulses, given a moment to cool down.

Regardless of Carver's temper, it was worth it, not just for Merrill's sake, but for the smile Hawke aimed in his direction. Sebastian very carefully didn't consider asking Hawke into all dark alleys with him in the future to watch his back just in case. "You're welcome, Merrill," he said instead.

Varric grunted softly, but didn't say anything, just shook his head wordlessly and started the next deal. And play continued, quiet jokes and drinks refilled and another round of bets. Hawke's friends weren't sure what to make of him, _which is completely mutual_ , but they still welcomed him, for her sake. _I'd do almost anything for her sake._ She was so warm, her words, her smile. _Her skin?_ He wanted things he'd set aside for years, flesh and heat and passion. He wanted things he'd never even considered when he'd been young and reckless, warmth and comfort and laughter.

He thought he'd found his place, thanks to the Grand Cleric. But now...

Hawke was stronger than he had ever been, able to serve the Maker's Will and help those around her, without ever having to constrain herself with vows and rules. Those vows had saved his life, he was sure, prevented him from ending up fleeced by a whore or engaging in drunken duels or passed out in a ditch or exiled by his family somewhere far enough away his reputation would no longer reflect poorly on them. For the first time, though, he was afraid those vows had cost him a life as well.

Hawke rolled her eyes at something Isabela said, blowing a kiss to the serving wench who had just leaned her head in to say she was off for the night, and not to have too much fun without her. _Cora? Nora?_ Didn't matter. Not the point. Hawke was happy here, surrounded by lively rogues and games and real people. _Not statues and candles and vows._ There was no sign that Hawke would be interested in more than friendship, even were he free of his obligations. _Which I am not. And never shall be._

It made his chest ache, but at least now he knew. Knew there was no place for him with her. Knew she was happy without him. Knew he'd come perilously close to trying for more. But he could stop, now. It wasn't too late.

And then Merrill said something, and Isabela said something else, and he wasn't really paying attention, trying to settle his thoughts and keep playing the game and not stare at her like a lovesick youth, but Hawke threw her cards on the table and her head leaned back and she _laughed_ , and the ache in his chest broke into splinters, sharp and painful and glorious. _Oh, it is much too late for me,_ but he could pretend, he could hold it in so as not to embarrass her, so he could honor his vows in action, even if they'd shattered against his heart.


	12. Hawke

"And here I thought I was going to make it out a winner," Adelaide shook her head, still chuckling. "I usually know better than to attempt that combination."

"Apparently you don't, dearest," Isabela said. "Now spill. Or, you know, I'm still waiting on someone to offer up a re-enactment, rather than a story?" 

"Alright, then." _Oh, this is a dreadful idea._ "My first kiss can be broken down into a series of dreadfully inept stages. I was enamored of the stable-hand at the inn at the crossroads nearest us when we lived by Lake Calenhad, before we settled in Lothering." She saw a couple raised eyebrows, presumably wondering why a family full of apostates settled themselves right by the Templars, but her father had always claimed it was best to hide in plain sight. _Seems to have worked so far, too._ She carefully didn't look at Sebastian. Even she knew she was rather pushing her luck there, but she couldn't seem to resist. "So, I followed him around, helping him with his chores, which of course turned me into 'one of the boys' rather than the beautiful helpmeet reaction I'd been aiming for, so when we were alone one nice warm evening, the stars shining and everything quiet, and I tried to lean in for a kiss..." Adelaide turned towards Aveline, who was so startled by the sudden movement she jerked back, making her chair jump and knocking Adelaide off balance so that her forehead fell into Aveline's shoulder. 

Adelaide chuckled and leaned back into her chair. "Pretty much that happened, only he smacked his head on the wall behind him so hard he went cross-eyed, and had a visible welt for the next two days."

A few soft laughs wafted across the table, while Carver snorted softly. "Never did believe he'd smacked his head from dodging a spooked horse. Kieran never spooked the horses."

"Yes, not one of my better stories that one, but I was young and inexperienced and trying not to embarrass myself any more than I already had." Adelaide sighed. "I was also convinced I'd absolutely ruined everything, so I avoided him for almost a sennight. He eventually hunted me down, but I was sure he was going to tell me we were just friends and to leave him be, so I was fidgeting all over the place, and when he leaned in to try and kiss me this time, I turned my head just wrong and slammed my nose into his forehead."

Merrill giggled, and Isabela laughed, and oh, Sebastian's eyes had the nicest creases around the edges as he smiled and chuckled softly. 

"Not very good at romance, are you Hawke?" Varric grinned at her from the head of the table. 

"Dreadful," Adelaide smiled back. "Blood leaking out of your nose tends to spoil the mood. However, now I knew he was at least considering the possibility as well, so I was determined to get it right. Gave it a couple days for my nose to heal up, and hunted him down again. Of course, now we both knew what we wanted to do, but we both also knew we'd screwed it up twice, so we neither of us were remotely sure how to go about it without risking more bodily injury. He started first, though." Adelaide leaned across the table, picking up Merrill's delicate hand, and dropping a light kiss across her knuckles. "He kissed my hand, and then I leaned in and kissed his cheek." She tilted her head, and Isabela grinned, taking the invitation and pressing her lips gently to Adelaide's skin.

More than anything she'd desired in a very long time, _quite possibly ever_ , Adelaide wanted to continue her demonstration on Sebastian, to lean across the table again and find out how his lips tasted, what his breath would feel like against her mouth. _He has vows. And honor. And would not appreciate me choosing to break them for him._

So instead Adelaide got out of her seat and stalked up to the head of the table, grabbed Varric's head, and planted one hard smack right on his lips. Varric barely managed to hold in the laugh until she was done, at which point she graced him with a very over-done bow. And then had to wait until he stopped chuckling to continue. "And then we finally managed to get each others lips without hitting our heads on anything, and the real version was actually quite sweet, and he didn't laugh at me at all. Unlike you dreadful ruffians." Adelaide grinned 'round the table, pleased to see everyone smiling. "And it appears Varric and Isabela and Sebastian are rather equally split on chips, while the rest of us have the dregs, and I don't think we have much chance against them, so who else would like to concede?"

"Well, Isabela and Sebastian already volunteered their stories anyways," Anders shrugged in agreement. "And I don't think any of us will get a tale out of Varric that he doesn't want to tell?" 

Adelaide raised her eyebrows at Varric, who just smirked. "Blondie's pretty smart. You should listen to him."

"Someday, Varric," Isabela pushed her chips up towards the head of the table so the dwarf could collect them. "Someday one of us will surprise you. And you'll tell us something about yourself that isn't a comedy of errors and arrows and smart remarks."

"You're welcome to keep trying Rivaini," Varric chuckled again. "Anything's possible."

"But you obviously don't think my odds are that good," the pirate sighed. "Ah well, hope springs eternal, as the saying goes."

Aveline snorted as she shoved back from the table. "Good luck with that, Isabela. And as for the rest of you, it's late for anyone to be wandering Lowtown by themselves. Let's get together and do the rounds."

A general sliding of chairs and chips and gathering of weapons and more weapons, and Isabela was waving farewell from her perch by the bar, and everyone else was standing outside in the dark.

Adelaide blinked, trying once again to figure out how Aveline always _managed_ everything, but then Fenris and Sebastian were leaving for Hightown while the rest of them were destined for Darktown and the Alienage before swinging back to Uncle Gamlen's, and Sebastian had bent over her hand to wish her farewell, his fingers briefly warm as they touched, though his lips hovered just a bit too far above her skin, and then she was standing in the middle of an empty plaza watching Sebastian walk away, his head tilted to listen as Fenris engaged in something that seemed surprisingly conversational with the taller man beside him.

She could clearly picture the expression on his face, eyes still and focused as he gave Fenris all his attention, and she almost burst into a run to walk with them so she could see it for real, but Aveline's hand landed rather firmly on her shoulder, holding her in place.

"It is time for home, Hawke, not prancing back and forth through Hightown." 

Adelaide shrugged, then nodded, and made herself turn around. _I am not imagining those impossible blue eyes looking at me out of a little face, smooth lines of Vael cheekbones and a Hawke nose and black hair and Void take you, Isabela. I never wanted Hawke-lets, but now I can't stop imagining baby Vaels._ "I'm going to strangle Isabela."

Aveline paused, then shrugged, obviously deciding not to ask. "Reasonable. Possibly messy, however, and she is unfortunately handy to have around. Plus, then I'd have to arrest you."

"But, Isabela's so nice! To everyone!" Merrill protested. "And you wouldn't really arrest Hawke, would you Aveline?"

Aveline sighed, as Adelaide chuckled. "No, Merrill, we are planning neither murder nor incarceration. I'm just... tired."

"Well then, we should drop you off first, then, your Uncle's house is closest anyways, it makes much more sense than having you walk all the way to the clinic and back."

Anders attempted to mutter that he could take care of himself, thank you very much, and no one needed to walk him to his clinic at all, but they all made sure to ignore him. Aveline's rules: no one went out alone after dark if it could be prevented. _And we're even less likely to argue with Aveline than we are to try and break her rules._

Adelaide was pretty sure that getting dropped off at home while everyone else traipsed around town was the sort of suggestion she generally argued with, _aren't I usually the one taking care of people, not the other way 'round?_ , but she really was quite suddenly exhausted. "Only if Aveline agrees to take Daryn with, so she isn't walking back home by herself. Even Aveline should have back-up."

Aveline snorted softly, but nodded in agreement.

"What am I? Invisible?" Carver grunted from a few steps ahead. "My legs work fine, I can walk to Darktown and back."

"Thank you, brother," Adelaide skipped forward to take his arm. Which, for once, he didn't immediately shrug out of her grasp. _Maybe he's tired too? Or feeling nostalgic, after Peaches and Kieran. Besides, Carver is, actually, spectacular back-up. Great big two-handed sword swinging through bad guys and all. Tends to scare them off._

The unusually companionable silence was punctuated by five sets of footsteps, and very little else, as apparently Lowtown had decided they were worth avoiding, tonight. _Nice change, quiet._

One quick wave when they passed her staircase, and Adelaide slipped quietly into Gamlen's house, hoping no one would be awake and require interaction before she could escape to her bed. Where there was not, and would never be, pretty eyes and a pretty voice waiting to crawl under the covers with her, so she really rather desperately needed to stop pining after the man and picturing imaginary impossible children.

_They'd be really pretty children?_

_And I am starting to sound like Merrill. In my head even. Only I'm pretty sure I sound pathetic, rather than adorable._

_Maybe I can smother myself on my pillow?_

Adelaide slowly kicked off her boots and peeled off her leathers and collapsed face first on her bunk. And then turned her head out of the pillow with a sigh. _Or not. I like breathing._ She carefully filled her lungs, let it all out slowly. Her fingers clenched around her pillow, then relaxed, as she checked the walls of her mental wards in preparation for sleep. 

_Andraste, please guide me to walk by your side, to avoid temptation, to dream sweet and safe. Without demons, thank you. And, uh, I promise I'm trying to stop eyeing your bridegroom. Truly. But did the Maker really have to make him completely gorgeous and nice and add the accent? Because it makes things difficult._


End file.
